I was finally convinced to watch The Exorcist (1973) after reading DVD Savant's vituperative review a few weeks back. The liberal Savant was offended by what he viewed as reactionary Christian propaganda, problems I'm not likely to share with my center-right sensibilities. What did bug me about The Exorcist, however, is that it's not very good - or, more to the point, that it's not very scary.
I've posted a few rants about horror films before, and I stand by previous comments: the gorier and more obvious a film's "scares" are, the less scary it is. The Exorcist is a case in point, being a grotesque vomitorium of gore, goop and ghouls hiding behind a veneer of Catholic respectability. Sure, it's a first class production with lots of talent in front of and behind the camera. But what's it for?
Actress Chris MacNeill (Ellen Burstyn) is filming a movie in Georgetown, DC, when her daughter Regan (Linda Blair) begins displaying some genuinely frightening behavior. Regan's condition goes from foul language and bad behavior to super-human strength and hideous physical transformation, which doctors and psychiatrists are at a loss to explain. Things grow more complicated when film director Burke Dennings (Jack Macgowran) dies mysteriously while babysitting Regan. Chris contacts Father Karras (Jason Miller), a young priest who is losing faith after the death of his mother, for help, believing her daughter is demonically possessed. Karras is initially skeptical, but ultimately receives sanction to call in experienced exorcist Father Merrin (Max Von Sydow), who recognizes Regan's tormentor as his arch-nemesis, the demon Pazuzu (voice of Mercedes McCambridge).
Adapted from William Peter Blatty's novel, The Exorcist is a first-rate job by William Friedkin (The French Connection) and company on a technical level. Owen Roitzman and Billy Williams provide moody, creepy photography, and there is lots of impressive make-up and visual effects as Regan's possession progresses. The musical score (mostly "found" classical music) is effectively creepy, especially Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells. The lengthy climax, with Merrin and Karras directly confronting Pazuzu, is a fine, gripping set-piece that works on its own merits, logic or build-up aside. It's shame that all of this effort isn't in service of a better film, but there's the rub.
In the backwash of the "New Hollywood" revolution in graphic violence, sex and language, The Exorcist makes no pretense to subtlety. Compared even to Rosemary's Baby just six years prior, Friedkin's effort is cartoonishly obvious. After half-an-hour of ominous build-up, we get a prolonged geek show with each disgusting scene trying to top the last. The effect is tiresome and numbing: it's easy to shock an audience with crucifix masturbation, projectile vomit and spinning heads - especially when a 12-year old girl is doing it. That's step one. Step two is offering something more than grotesque imagery, or else it gets old in hurry. So it is here: another horror film that thinks innundating viewers with slime is the ultimate fright.
I have no objections to the theological material. The movie has to be taken on its own terms here, and if anything it's nice to see a film where the forces of good aren't helpless and impotent (The Amityville Horror). I say, if you're going to have Satan in one corner, you should have equally-powerful representatives of God in opposition. However, the film leaves unanswered something I've always wondered about the exorcism phenomenon: with all the Evil he could be spreading throughout the world, why would Satan (or his minions) waste so much effort bothering a little girl? A more faithful viewer could accept possession logic at face-value, but I find it difficult to take the whole idea seriously.
A more fundamental issue is the sloppy story-telling: the film is awkwardly paced and sags whenever Regan isn't cussing and puking. The opening Iraq sequence is beautifully shot and ominous, but goes on needlessly long and does little more than establish Merrin's character. The scenes between the vomit and girl-swearing are mostly filler: a film buff detective (Lee J. Cobb) turns up for two long scenes of small talk, and a bevy of doctors and psychiatrists repeatedly prove their own clueless. Father Karras's doubts and inner conflict provide some nice character drama, but he's made almost irrelevant when Super-Priest Merrin shows up. The movie spasmodically jerks from quiet scenes to loud frights, in an obvious attempt to jar the audience. Sorry, I'm not biting.
The acting is mostly good. Ellen Burstyn (W.) makes the most of a role that mostly involves horrified reactions and pleading. Linda Blair struggles through a difficult, taxing role, replete with physical torture, grisly make-up and garishness, with a foul demonic voice provided by Mercedes McCambridge (Johnny Guitar). Max Von Sydow (Shutter Island) gets the showiest part, but Jason Miller's sensitive Father Karras does the real heavy lifting. Lee J. Cobb (On the Waterfront) is a completely superfluous filler character. Several real priests - most notably the charming Reverend William O'Malley - fill in supporting roles quite nicely.
Ultimately, The Exoricst is not so much a horror film as a horrible one. Wakka wakka. No doubt more faithful (or credulous) viewers, or less demanding ones, will continue to find it one of the scariest movies ever, but I'll take the creepy shadows and subtlety of The Cat People over another green vomit bath, thank you very much.
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